


The House of Cards

by ausmac



Series: The Card Reader [1]
Category: Warcraft (2016), Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: M/M, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-08-20 04:52:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8236712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ausmac/pseuds/ausmac
Summary: A young man making a living as a card reader in Stormwind after having lost his memory meets the Lord Commander of Stormwind and begins a chain of events that will lead him back to who he is, and what both his fate and the fate of Azeroth may be.





	1. The First of Summer

**Author's Note:**

> Doris Egan's Gate of Ivory inspired this story, and it seemed a nice way to write a slightly different approach to the characters for me, so that I could have a bit of fun along the way. If my readers enjoy it that is (:
> 
> I'll have to make a couple of small changes to the movie lore; there won't be a Kirin Tor mark for anyone to recognise, but I will be trying to be as close to canon as possible otherwise. - except when I make massive changes of course (:

Sitting cross-legged with his back against the sun-warmed stone wall, Fallorn laid out the cards for his current customer, using the classic House of Life pattern.  He pointed to the card in the centre.

“Your Marker indicates you have recently had a child in your family.”  He'd guessed that, she had small milk stains on her gown above her breasts and the slight bulge of someone still swolen from giving birth.

The woman sitting opposite him nodded.  “Yes, I gave birth a week ago.  But he isn’t well and I’m trying to decide what to do.  The fees for the healers are very expensive”  She sighed, her eyes sad as Fallorn rested a finger on the deck in front of him.  “My husband says he’s sickly, best to leave him pass to the Light and try again.”

Fallorn kept the neutral, thoughtful expression his face – his ‘professional’ face, he liked to call it.  Inwardly, he felt for the woman and her obvious pain.  A simple problem, simply fixed, to take the child to a proper Healer, not one of hedgehealers that sprang up wherever the poor lived.  “Is there no way you can visit the Cathedral, petition for a priest’s healing?”

She laughed bitterly.  “Certainly, if I don’t mind waiting a month in the petitioner’s queue.  By which time my problem is solved.”

“Very well, let me see what the cards suggest.”  He laid out a vertical line of three cards to one side of the House pattern.  At the same time he was assessing his customer.  Her clothing was simple but clean and very neatly sewn, showing careful needlecraft.  “They suggest you speak to a certain woman.  This card,” he said, touching the top card in the line, showing a bent hag with a staff, “is the Mother of Blessings.  Do you know one by the name of Carelline?”

The woman nodded.  “Yes, she is a tailor over in the Old Town.”

“The second card, the Pack Master, suggests she is in need of assistance.  And she pays well for rapid and tidy work with a needle, so I’ve heard.  Are you experienced in that?”

“Yes, as it happens.  Before I married I apprenticed to a Master tailor.”  Her eyes brightened.  “Carelline is honest in her dealings, I’ve heard.”

He nodded.  “Perhaps is you visit her, she may provide you with enough makework to afford a better healer.  This,” he said, touching a card showing a bundle of flowers tied with a ribbon, “is the Gift of Flowers.  It’s a hopeful sign.  It perhaps means that you should give your child a chance at life.”  He smiled, seeing the hope flair in her eyes.  She pulled out her coin purse to pay him, handing over the two silver pieces.  He looked at the coins, and handed one back to her.  “Take this, for your baby.  I’ll light a candle for its life.  Every little bit of Light helps.”

Her eyes brightened as she scrambled to her feet.  “Thank you, Card reader.  For everything.”

Fallorn tucked the silver piece into his belt purse and gathered the cards.  A familiar deep voice spoke from oen side; he turned to see a man watching him, perched comfortably on a barrel, dressed in respectable leathers and twirling his cap in one hand.  “If you keep giving your money back to people, you’ll never make your rent.”

“Good day Beren.  Yes, I know, so you keep telling me.  But it was only worth one silver.  I only told her what a sensible person would.”

“A sensible person who knows a great deal about what happens around the city.  You’re a bit different from the memory-lost scrap who stumbled into my tavern.”

Fallorn nodded as he took the small folded packet from his backpack and opened it.  The two small biscuits he’d bought fresh from the baker on his way out in the morning were cool and hardened but still tasted good when he bit into them.  His water bottle was still cool though, and he broke his fast with a satisfied mumble.  “Yes, and you don’t know how much I appreciate you not just throwing me out into the gutter to starve.”  Fallorn stretched out his legs and watched the passing crowds, eyes intent.  “I just wish…”

“You could remember.  Well, who knows, maybe the past is better forgotten.  You get to start a new life.”  Beren jumped down, tugging the leather cap onto his dark blond hair.  He was a good looking man in his fourth decade, fit and trim and fairly comfortably off since his tavern was both clean and reasonably priced.  “Someone gave you the huge lump on the back of your head that left you that way.  Since you didn’t have a thing on you but your clothes, I’m guessing you were robbed as soon as you set foot in Stormwind.  Poor daft innocent.”  He tapped Fallorn on the head and turned to leave.  “But I still want my money on rentday, card reader.”

Fallorn waved at his friend and landlord as he sauntered off about his business.  It was Beren who had given him his name when he was obvious the damaged younger man couldn’t remember his true one.  Fallorn he’d called him, elven for Lost.  It’d seemed pretty apt at the time and since he had no idea who are what he was, he’d kept it.

He was about to take a break and visit the privy when a shadow fell across his mat.  He looked up, blinking into the sun, to see a tall figure looking down at him.  Surprised, he clambered to his feet.  “L…lord Commander!”

Sir Anduin Lothar, Lord Commander of Stormwind’s legions, stood watching him, his gauntleted hands tucked into his belt.  Even if Fallorn hadn't recognised him, the personal tabard he wore would have been a giveaway. “And you are, I believe, called Fallorn?”

“Yes sir.”  He couldn’t imagine why someone as important as this man would want to talk to him and Fallon hurriedly reviewed his recent past for any possible misdemeanours.  His hawker license was up to date, his spot was legal and he hadn’t gipped anyone out of anything.  “Can I help you?”

“Perhaps.  My sister has an interest in card reading.”  He studied Fallorn from head to foot, his eyes lazily amused.  “Not one I share, but she requested I locate a reader for a small function she has planned for tonight.  Would you be free to attend?”  The Commander took a small slip of paper from his belt bag.  “You would be paid five gold pieces for your…efforts.”

 _Five Gold Pieces!_   Enough to pay his rent for weeks.  “Of course, it would be my pleasure to read for the Queen.  And..perhaps for the King?”

Lothar gave a small snort of laughter.  “I doubt His Majesty would be interested but I leave that in my sister’s capable hands.”  He gave Fallorn the paper.  “This is my signed Authority to enter the Palace.  Please be there by the time shown.  And, ah, dressed..cleanly.”  He gave a brief nod and turned away.

Fallorn watched him go, holding the Authority in one hand, lips parted in an unspoken thanks.  _Well, he’s abrupt, rude and obviously used to getting what he wants._   And if he also happened to be devastatingly good looking in an arrogant I’m-Better-Than-Everyone-Living sort-of way, well, that was often the way of people like him.  But at that moment Fallorn didn’t care because he had the chance to visit the Palace, meet the King and Queen of Stormwind and earn five gold pieces.  And if His Lordly Arrogance was there, perhaps he could read the cards for him, too, because he’d like to see something like pleasure in those amazing eyes…


	2. The Two Duellists

Fallorn held up his spare set of clothing and sighed.  It was stained, there was no denying it, and possibly even worse than the clothes he was wearing.  He owned two of everything; pants, shirt and vest.  One he wore while the other was being washed.  And neither of them would do for visiting royalty.

It was just after the evening meal and he was due at the Castle in an hour.  There was barely time to wash himself and change and he certainly couldn’t afford to buy new clothing.  Finally he headed downstairs to look for Beren.

The tavern owner was in his usual spot behind the bar.  Beren Olfard trusted only one person to manage the grog, and that was himself, and he was serving bar customers as Fallorn slid into an empty spot between drinkers.  Beren passed a mug along to a customer and looked down at Fallorn in surprise.  “You don’t drink, so what are you here for at this hour?”

“I need a favour.”

“Oh yes, and what -- Oye, you!” he said, pointing to a big stonemason, “you throw up on my bar and you lie in it.  Out!”  The stonemason grumbled and left, staggering and Beren turned back to Fallorn.  “A favour.  What sort of favour?”

“I wonder if you would have some decent clothing I could borrow.  I have to go somewhere special and my own clothes just aren’t good enough.”

“Do I look like a used clothing store?  Alright, no need to pout.  Yes, that was definitely a pout.”  He ducked and adroitly avoided a flung mug.  “Blodger, haul that bastard out of here and get payment for that busted mug!.  You picked a busy time for this,” he said as he swept a damp rag along the bar. “I do have a few things I’ve collected from people who tried to leave without paying their bills.”  He turned and signalled his assistant.  “Jeb, take over for a minute, and don’t drink my profits, I know what level the good stuff is.”  He moved from behind the bar and led Fallorn through to a store room, unlocking the door with a key on the big ring attached to his belt.  Inside were stacks of boxes, crates, bags and packs, along with all kinds of items hung from rails suspended from the roof. 

Fallorn looked about, wide-eyed.  “Goodness, this looks like a treasure trove.  You must have some interesting things here.”

“Probably.  I’m a bit of a hoarder, I need to get this stuff sorted and sold.”  He rifled among the clothing hanging from the raised beam.  “No..not that, too big.  I took something off a travelling mage some months ago that might fit…now where is…ah, here it is.”  He pulled a robe from a hanger on the railing and held it out against Fallorn.  “Just about the right size too.”

The robe was a good quality velvet, dark blue with a black sash and some embroidery around the wrist-length sleeves and on the lower hem.  Fallorn stroked a hand over the fabric.  “It’s nice.  A bit more extravagent than I’m used to.”

“Well, that’s all I have time to find for now.  Look after it, and if you stain it, you keep it and it goes on your bill.  Out ya go, I have to get back to work.”

“Thanks, I’ll take good care of it.”  Fallorn carried the robe through to the bathing room, gave himself a quick wash, tidied his hair and slipped the robe on.  It felt odd wearing a robe rather than his normal trousers, shirt and belted vest, but it was certainly nicer than the cleaner of his two sets of clothing.  He tied his card pack to a purse on his belt, slid the invitation into it and set off at a brisk walk to the Castle.

The castle guards obviously didn’t recognise him and gave his pass a thorough check before one of the soldiers was assigned to guide him inside.  He was too shy to talk to the stranger leading him but not so nervous that he didn’t take in everything he saw along the way.  At one stage they passed an open door and he saw shelves loaded with books.  Fallorn enjoyed reading and would consume any and every book he could get his hands on.  He wondered at his chances of being able to visit that collection. Probably slim to nought. Still, who knew what chances the future might bring.  He mentally filed the idea away for the future.

They finally came to a set of open double doors; the guard indicated it was his destination and left to return to his post.  Hesitant, suddenly nervous, he walked through the doorway and stopped just inside. 

It was a nice room, he saw absently; the high stone walls were softened by tapestries, the waxed wooden floors covered with lush rugs.  Around a dozen people were present, standing and talking, sitting, laughing, obviously comfortable in each other’s company.  He looked from face to face, recognised no one and then saw one person he knew, standing by the unlit fireplace.  Sir Anduin Lothar had a mug in one hand and was smiling down at a dark haired, elegantly dressed woman.  Lothar glanced up casually as he paused to take a drink from his mug, caught sight of Fallorn by the door and bent to say a word to the woman.  She looked towards Fallorn and smiled, raising a hand to gesture him to come forward.

He walked towards her and although he’d never seen the Queen, he assumed this was his current temporary employer.  He dipped his head in a bow when he reached her.  “Your Majesty.”

“Good evening, cardreader.  I understand your name is Fallorn?”

“Yes, that’s correct.  Thank you very much for inviting me to read for you.”  He smiled a little shyly into her dark eyes.  “It’s a great honour, I hope I won’t disappoint you.”

Her responding smile was warm.  “I’m sure you won’t.  Why don’t you grab yourself something to eat and drink, and set yourself up for the reading after you’ve dined.  There is a table over there,” she finished, pointing to an alcove at the side of the room, “which should suit us perfectly.”

Fallorn bowed again and went to the table in the centre of the room set for the guests.  There were plates of refreshments and since he hadn’t eaten that afternoon, Fallorn picked up an empty plate and filled it with food.  There were marinated chicken wings, sliced roast pork, various tiny roasted vegetables, bread buns warm from the oven and butter, wonderful fresh butter that he loaded onto the bread.  Not to mention plates of fruit and cakes.  For a light supper, it was a buffet of delights for a hungry young man, the kind of food that he’d never seen – or couldn’t remember seeing.  He poured himself a glass of apple cider and took his food to the alcove to eat in private.

 _Remember to eat neatly_ he thought, using a three pronged fork he’d selected to pick up the food.  It might be fine to eat with his fingers at the tavern, but he rather thought that wouldn’t suit for the palace.  When he’d eaten his fill he took the dishes and mug to a side table with piles of used plates and mugs and returned to set up the cards.

The Queen and Sir Anduin joined him shortly afterwards.  “You don’t mind if my brother watches, do you?”

Fallorn nodded, since he really had no choice.  "Of course not, ma'am."

"Anduin mentioned you were from outside the Kingdom.  Where is your home?”

“I don’t know.”  He saw her surprise and blushed.  “No, I mean I don’t remember.  I was apparently set upon when I first arrived in Stormwind and suffered a head injury.  I lost my memory.”

“That’s awful.  To not know who you are.”  She laid a soft hand on his arm.  “Well, you have a home here in Stormwind now, and perhaps your memory will return in time.”

Sir Anduin stood behind his sister, leaning on the wall, arms crossed over his chest.  “Surprised the cards don’t tell you about yourself.  Thought that would be a natural thing to ask.”  The tone was mildly sarcastic and Fallorn flushed.

“The cards never respond to questions about the reader, sir.”

“Ah,” he said, eyes hooded.  “Sadly inconvenient.”

Fallorn ground his teeth together and turned his attention to the Queen, who smiled at him and dug her elbow back into her brother’s thigh.  “Ignore him, he’s just being his usual cynical self.  So, how does this go?”

“Well, first I chose your Marker card – it’s the card that stands for you.”  His eyes narrowed as he considered her.  She had strength, he thought, beneath that gentle exterior.  Her eyes were steady and intelligent, her chin hinted at stubbornness, her hands – while soft – were not weak.  “For you I think ‘The Sun Lady’.”  He laid the cards face down, spread them in a line and ran his fingers across the back of the cards.  When he felt the familiar tingle, he lifted the card and placed it face up on the table.  The card for the Sun Lady lay revealed; a figure of a smiling woman, golden haired, head wreathed in rays of the sun behind her, dressed in a golden full length robe.  The Queen blinked.  “That was very clever, how did you know which card to pick?”

“Probably marked,” her brother muttered and Fallorn didn’t dignify that comment with a response.  He shrugged and picked up the rest of the deck.  “I don’t know, to tell the truth.  It just happens.”  He handed the deck to her.  “Please shuffle the cards, and think about what it is you wish to know, or what things currently concern you or those people in your life.”

She nodded and began to shuffle carefully, obviously not used to handling cards.  Her eyes became unfocused as she looked down at the cards moving in her hands, then sighed and refocused on him.  “Enough?”

“Yes.”  He reached out to take them and as her hand touched his he felt a sharp tingle and almost fumbled the deck.  _Well, that’s never happened before…_   He coughed to cover his surprise.  _Too much apple cider perhaps…_

He set the deck down in the middle of the table and had the Queen cut it into three.  He took the top card of each pile and set them to one side, then re-joined the deck.  “Now I shall see that which has passed.”  He laid one card to the left of her Marker.  “Then that which is now,” and a second card was placed to the right of the Marker.  He set the deck down and considered the Passed card.

“This is the ‘Five Comforts’.  It’s a card usually indicating a time of health and wellbeing.  Whatever you are seeking to know, this indicates the past of your search is a happy one.”  He pointed to the second card.  “This is the ‘One Heart’.  Usually, this is a lover or a partner.  So I would say you are seeking something with regard to…your husband?”

She nodded, eyes bright.  “Yes I am.  I want..”

“No, don’t tell me, that’s my job.”  He took the three cards he’d taken from the split and set them in a vertical line, beside the tree other cards.  “The ‘Two Duellists’, the ‘Broken Keep’ and ‘The Sorcerer’.  An unusual…”

And as he touched the three cards the world phased out and he was somewhere else, talking to people he knew he should know… _Please listen to me, there is something wrong, I can feel it…terrible danger…must speak to the Guardian….Fel….._

He was suddenly back, in his chair, with two people watching him open mouthed; he thought he might have yelled, his throat was dry and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “The Guardian.  You must call the Guardian.  There is terrible danger coming.”

The Queen looked up at her brother, who was watching Fallorn through narrowed eyes.  “What are you on about?” he snarled, and put his hand on his sister’s shoulder.  “You are frightening my sister!”

Fallorn wiped a shaking hand across his face.  “I’m…sorry.  I don’t understand what just happened.”

“Well, that’s enough so-called entertainment.”  Sir Anduin reached into his purse and slammed two gold coins on the table.  “Time for you to be gone, cardreader.  And you might want to be a bit less dramatic next time you host one of those so-called readings.”

He didn’t remember much about leaving but some time later Fallorn found himself outside the castle, standing in the cold night clutching his cards and two gold coins, with the chill knowledge that something was seriously wrong…

 

 


	3. The Sorcerer

Beren rarely rose before ten in the morning, given that he worked most of the night at the bar, and Fallorn knew where to find him at that time. He was at his usual table in the small dining area eating his brunch and he waved at Fallorn as he slid into the chair opposite.

“Pour me a tea would you boy, and take one for yourself.”

“Thanks.” Fallorn poured two cups of the sweet herbal tea and took a sip as Beren munched on his toast. “Tell me, Beren – would you know what the Guardian is?”

The tavern keeper choked on his toast. “The Guardian! Don’t tell me he was there!”

“I’ve no idea, since I don’t know who he is.”

Beren took a mouthful of tea to clear his throat and coughed. “That’s better. The Guardian, my young mind ravaged friend, is Medivh, the Guardian of Azeroth. The most famous and probably the most powerful mage in the world. You know, that big statue out near the main gate.”

“Oh.” Fallorn picked up one of the pieces of toast and pulled off bits of the crust. “Well, that’s just odd.”

“You better fill me in, I’ll be the judge of how odd it is.”

So he did, describing the events of the evening and in particular his strange reaction during the reading. Beren looked impressed. “So you had a real card-reading insight. That must have been a shock.”

“And the rest. I’ve never felt anything like that before when handling the cards. It scared the crap out of me.”

Beren grinned. “I bet it did. So what happened after that?”

“I was invited to leave, in the most definite terms,” Fallorn said, mouth twisted in annoyance, “by His Grand and Important Self, Sir Anduin Lothar.”

“Oh Lords of Light,” Beren said, grinning, “not only did you scare the Queen but you pissed off the Lion of Azeroth. That’s quite a set of achievements for your first Court attendance. What do you follow that up with – causing the King to have a stroke?”

“No, but I suspect the Lord Commander wanted me out of there before I could cause any more trouble.” He poured another cup to take the sour taste away. “That man is the most arrogant, self-important….”

“Hmph. You like him.” He smiled at Fallorn’s eyebrow-wrinkling frown. “Tell me, young cardreader, have you seen any women since you woke up without your memory that you’d like to fuck?”

“Well, I haven’t had much time…” Fallorn blushed. “No, really.”

“What about men? Seen any of those you’ve fancied? And no,” he said, waving a fork, “I don’t mean me. You’re not my type.”

Fallorn opened his mouth, closed it again and the blush deepened. “Would it..be wrong..if I did think, feel, that way?”

“Not at all. I figured you were fae. You don’t act it but I notice you around the tavern girls, you don’t look at their breasts or bums but I’ve seen you watch some of the young men who come in. Not overtly but your eyes just drift that way. I tilt both ways myself, being an ambivalent sort of fella, and being fully fae isn’t a crime in my book.”

“I suppose you’re right. But that does not mean that I find that armoured twit attractive.”

“Right. Are you sure about that – be honest, now.”

Fallorn huffed out a breath and his eyes narrowed in thought. Do I find him attractive? Physically, he supposed he was in a warrior-hefty, blue eyed and bearded and overbearing sort of way. A bit intimidating, powerful and…yes, maybe attractive. “I guess so. I still don’t like him, but yes, he’s attractive.”

“There ya go. But it’s a good thing maybe you don’t like him, because you’d be setting yourself up for disappointment if you did. He’s the Queen’s brother, best friend of the King and the Guardian, Lord Commander of the armed forces of this Kingdom, a widower with a grown son so probably not fae, so on and so forth. Few steps above your status, m’boy.”

After returning the clothing to Beren’s stores, Fallorn headed off to his usual spot and set up to read. It was a bit of a slow day but he wasn’t too unhappy about that because it gave him time to think. The events of the reading still puzzled and worried him. Within the limits of his damaged memory he had never experienced anything like his reaction at that reading. There was an echo of feeling, a sense of something dark just out of sight, that he could almost recognise. He’d lost too much of himself, his past, and then more than ever he felt that his real self would understand the feelings he was getting. He still had no idea what he’d been before waking up in Stormwind but whatever it was, something in his past had brought him there. He was no vagrant; he was educated, he spoke well, he was healthy and quick and every now and then he felt memories hovering at the edge of his consciousness, just out of reach.

It was frustratingly close. And after the previous night he’d begun to believe that it was more important than ever to remember who he was.

He was struggling with his errant memories when a pair of boots appeared in his view and he looked up into the face of the Lord Commander. Who didn’t appear too pleased to be standing there.

“Cardreader. The King requests your presence.”

His first thought was they are going to toss me in prison! And he may have shown that shock on his face because Lothar shook his head almost in sympathy.

“Don’t look so scared, boy, you’re not being punished.” He reached down a hand and pulled Fallorn to his feet. “Pick up your things and come along.”

Fallorn grabbed his mat and cards, wrapped them up in a bundle and hurried along with Lothar, almost running to keep up with his long-legged stride. “Why am I requested?”

“His Majesty will explain. Let’s just say, your rambling last night caused a stir in certain places.”

He’d reveal nothing further so Fallorn followed him silently through the streets and up to the castle. They climbed a further set of stairs that went from the formal areas into more elegant – and more heavily guarded – precincts of the big structure. Portraits hung on walls, the corridors were covered with expensive runner carpets and music sounded from a small chamber orchestra playing somewhere nearby. Lothar pushed a door open and led Fallorn through into a room that seemed to be full of imposing figures.

Fallorn recognised the Queen, and the dark-haired bearded man in expensive robes seated at a desk he assumed to be her husband, the King. But even more imposing was the figure standing before the large unlit fireplace.

His dark hair was streaked with grey, and the blue-green eyes he turned on Fallorn were incredibly intense. There was an aura about him that Fallorn sensed but could not identify. He was dressed in robes and a long cape with black feathers decorating the shoulders.

Lothar caught Fallorn’s attention and nudged him forward. “Sire, this is Fallorn, the cardreader.”

Fallorn bowed to the King and the Queen. “Sir, um, if it’s about last night, I apologise…”

“Don’t apologise, young man.” The King’s voice was grave but not unkind. “Your words were reported to me and it was decided that the terms and content warranted a report being sent to the Guardian.” He raised a hand and pointed to the caped figure. “Medivh wished to speak to you himself about it.”

Fallorn nodded and turned towards the Guardian. The mage took two steps forward, moving with surprising grace for such a tall, powerful figure. His expression was entirely neutral, his eyes hardly blinked, reminding Fallorn of a bird of prey. And then he smiled and the odd sense of danger that Fallorn had begun to feel faded.

“So tell me, young man – what do you know of the Fel?”


	4. Storm Season

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short piece, but I couldn't resist...

The Guardian spent some time questioning Fallorn in a rather pointless exercise to discover his understanding of something he had no understanding of.  He didn’t know what “fel” was – except apparently it was spelled with a capital F, indicating it was important.  He was given little information in return; the mage seemed to enjoy being mysterious.  He appeared mildly intrigued at Fallorn’s card reading ability, and at the way he’d experienced a sense of danger regarding whatever the hell Fel was.  

Finally he shrugged and turned to Lothar.  “I don’t believe this young man can provide anything further at this time.  His memory loss is interfering with any real discovery.  He could be important.  He could also be slightly magically talented, and have picked up on some sort of research being carried out.  I can only suggest you keep him close by and report to me if he receives any further, shall we say, intriguing messages.” 

Then, without so much as a farewell, he was gone in a flash of light and power.  Fallorn blinked rapidly as his eyes flared at the sudden brilliance.  He sniffed, unimpressed.  “Well, that’s a bit rude.” 

He heard a snort and turned as his eyesight settled.  The Lord Commander was smiling, in that crooked smart arsed way of his.  “He’s the Guardian, he can afford rude.” 

Fallorn grunted in the negative but didn’t vocalise it.  “Sir, if that’s all, I have a living to make.” 

“Not right now you don't.  You’re staying here.” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“Granted.  Medivh said to keep you close by, so you’re staying close by.  Until or if something else pops out of that rattled brain of yours.” 

Fallorn scowled.  “I don’t want to stay here, thank you very much.” 

_Glare._ “I don’t believe I gave you a choice.” 

_Matching Glare._ “Have I committed some crime?  Am I your prisoner?” 

_Annoyed Glare._ “My guest.  Don’t make me push it further.  I have chains.  And a dungeon.” 

_Frustrated Glare._  “And you know how to use them, I’m sure.”

The glaring went on for a few minutes but finally Fallorn gave in out of necessity.  The man held the high ground; he was head of the city’s armed forces and could pretty well do what he wanted, royal commands aside.  But he kept arguing all the way through the corridors and up the stairs, if for no other reason that it got that pest of a man’s eyes flaring in challenge.  Obviously having someone challenge his orders was new to him.  _Well, get accustomed to it, big man.  I really don’t like you!_

The room he was shown into wasn’t a dungeon.  It was actually rather nice, twice the size of his tavern accommodation and it even had its own small bathing room.  The windows weren’t barred but it was so far above ground level he wouldn’t be climbing out anytime soon.  Lothar stood at the door, thumbs hooked into his belt. 

“I’ll send you a servant to attend upon you while you are here.  They can also go wherever you are staying and collect your things.” 

“Fine.  Tell them to take along some gold, Beren will want the room rent paid.”  It was nice to give him orders for once, and he smiled mildly at the renewed frown.  “Well, you’ve taken away my ability to make a living, so you can recompense me for that.” 

That earned him another annoyed grunt.  “I’m really starting not to like you, cardreader.  Oh, and don’t try and leave, I have armed guards and they will have orders.”  With that he turned in what was almost a flounce and left, slamming the door behind him. 

“Petulant!”  He grinned at the sound of a receding snarl.

 

 

 

 


	5. The Broken Sword

Fallorn’s things arrived an hour later, dropped off by Clarise, the young woman who’d been assigned to him.  She passed the badly-stuffed old bag over to him with a grin.  “Your friend said to say, “what the hell have you got yourself into now”’.  She cleared her throat and blushed.  “Except he didn’t say ‘hell’, but rather something ruder.  I think he may have overcharged for your room though.”

He took his bag and dropped it onto the bed.  “I bet he did.  So, Clarise, what does a person do for fun around this place?”

“Fun?  Well, you are the guest of the Lord Commander, I assume you’ll be socialising with him…”

“Only if there are no other choices.”

She gave a brief laugh.  “You don’t like him?  He’s pretty popular.  The Lion of Azeroth, and all that.”

“Well, I think he’s an arrogant controlling pratt, but that’s just me.”  He scratched his chin thoughtfully.  “I do need a few things, though.  Shaving gear, soap, a few other small items.  Does the Keep have a quartermaster?”

She led him through the Keep to the Quartermaster’s room and he ordered a set of shaving gear, a nice mug emblazoned with the Stormwind emblem, a new blue cloak and cloak pin, a clock in the shape of an owl with moving metal eyes, a nice dagger in a silver embossed sheath and various other interesting things, and charged them all to Sir Anduin Lothar.  The Quartermaster looked uncertain at that, but Fallorn waved one hand airily.  “It’s quite alright, I’m his guest.  Aren’t I, Clarise?”

“Well…yes.  I suppose.”

“See.  He’ll be really happy to pay the bill.  Oh, and if you can arrange for some flowers for his room, with my compliments, that would be nice.”  Grabbing his goods, he waved at the puzzled man and wandered off chuckling.

Clarise followed him very uncertainly.  “He’ll be angry, won’t he?”

“Probably.  But the man needs more flowers in his life.”

She took him to the mess hall for lunch and he happily selected a meal that had the benefit of not needing to be paid for.  He pulled out his cards while eating and offered to read for her, but she had to refuse and get back to her work.  So he went on with his meal alone, laying the cards out at random while he ate.  He felt the familiar buzz and spread the cards out, running a finger over the line until one spoke to him.  He flipped it over, saw it was the Broken Sword, and then …

_…the great gate opened….and they poured through it…._

Fear flushed through him, his body shook with it and he broke out in a cold sweat.  He could see it, see great unfamiliar beings surging up into the forest, saw one of them with glowing green eyes that turned towards him and the beast smiled and reached out a clawed hand and…

“Fallorn!  Stop it!”

Something hit his face – a hand, a big hand and he came back to himself to find his throat was sore and he thought he’d been yelling something.  He was on his feet, the cards strewn around him, and frightened people watching.  He shuddered and swayed, a blinding headache crashed into his mind and he sobbed at the pain as daylight slid away.  Hands caught him before he fell into the dark.

 

* * *

 

Fallorn came awake in the dark, but it was just the darkness of night.  He lay still, listening.  The world seemed perfectly normal, no strange beasts, just a quiet room with light from a lantern on a side table.  He coughed, his throat still sore, and heard cloth rustle.

“Awake, finally?”

Something cool touched his forehead.  A damp cloth, he realised, and he reached up to take it.  It felt good on his hot face.  “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He blinked up as Lothar’s face came into view.  There was none of the usual arrogance although the expression he bore was unusual.  Fallorn thought it might be something kind, but he wasn’t familiar enough with the man to tell.  The Lord Commander was a difficult man to read at the best of times.  Then he leant forward and put one hand behind Fallorn’s back.  “Come on, sit up so I can give you a drink of water.  How’s the head?”

“Still sore.  How did you know?”

“You were yelling and clutching your head, it wasn’t hard to tell.  You looked like something had hit you.”

“Before or after you did?”

He had the grace to look a bit shamed.  “Had to hit you, you were having one of those card-reader turns, didn’t seem to hear or understand me.  It must have been pretty bad.”  He held Fallorn up while he poured water into a mug.  “Oh, this must be the mug I paid for.  Nice thing.  And thanks for the flowers, by the way.  There’s a first time for everything.”

It was Fallorn’s turn to be embarrassed.  “I shouldn’t have done that, it was childish.  You annoyed me.”

“Yes, we seem to do that to each other, don’t we, cardreader.  We can talk about what you experienced when you’re feeling better tomorrow…”

“No, I need to tell you now.”  He straightened and Lothar pulled his hand away, then sat in a chair next to the bed.  “I saw these things, great big things like beasts but not.  They walked upright, they had armour and weapons, and they were charging through this…I don’t know what it was, but it was like a doorway from somewhere, all green and shimmering.  They came here, Lothar.  Somewhere on this world.  Somewhere with lots of trees, like a thick forest.  And one of them,” and he shuddered and held the cloth to his face, “one of them looked right at me, as if he could see me, and he was the most evil thing I’ve ever seen.”

Lothar slouched over, grasping his hands together.  “Fallorn, this all sounds farfetched.  Beasts, with weapons?”

“Yes I know.  But I saw it as clearly as I can see you.  I KNOW it’s real.  And it’s a terrible threat.  At least warn the King.”

Lothar stood and looked towards the window, fingers absently stroking through his beard.  “Very well.  I’ll talk to him about it, he will decide what needs to be done.”  He smiled crookedly down at Fallorn and reached out to pull the blankets up.  “Get some sleep.  And talk to Celine if you need anything for your head, she’ll talk to one of the healers and get you a potion.”  He turned back as he reached the door.  He seemed about to say something, then shook his head, turned and left, closing the door behind him.

The headache faded in time and he was able to sleep eventually, but not before staring up into the shadows and wondering if he’d seen something real or was going totally insane…

 

 

 


	6. The White Lady

As with nightmares and silly paranoid thoughts, things looked better in the morning.  The headache was gone, leaving only a mild embarrassment for the scene he’d made in the mess hall.  _Might be better to eat somewhere else for a bit_.  Yes, that seemed like a plan.  It was a good excuse to visit his friends out in the city anyhow – presuming he could.  Perhaps the apparent lessening of tension between him and the Lord Commander might be put to good use.

Determined to be on his best behaviour, Fallorn made use of his bathing room to take a long soaking bath, and dressed in his second best clothing.  The cloak he’d ordered was hanging on the doorknob when he opened it.  To keep or return it?  _Keep._   It was warm and felt nice on, swung over his shoulder and held in place with a small silver cloak pin.  He’d worry about how he’d come by it later.

A guard informed him that the Lord Commander was in conference with the King and Fallorn headed in the provided direction.   The two men were engaged in conversation in a room that, by its size, was some form of meeting room.  Only the King and the Lord Commander were present, seated on either side of the big unlit fireplace.  Fallorn hesitated at the door and began to turn away when he stopped at the sound of Lothar’s voice.

“Ah, the subject in point.  Come in, cardreader.”

Fallorn turned back and walked across to them, bowing to the King.  “Sire.’

“Good morning Fallorn.  I hope you’re feeling well today?”  He seemed genuinely concerned and Fallorn nodded.  “Yes sir, much better.  Thank you.”

“Good to hear.  Anduin has been telling me that you experienced another episode last night.  Can you give me all the details?”

Fallorn gave as exact a report as he could, noting the series of events that had precipitated it and what occurred during the experience.  The King glanced at Lothar, who had listened to Fallorn without expression  “People tell me that he was sitting quietly one moment, then was suddenly on his feet, yelling gibberish with one or two recognisable words tossed in.”  Lothar’s tone was clinically cool.  “They say he seemed genuinely frightened.”

The King stared at the floor for a few seconds, then back up at Fallorn. “Very well, I’ll send a message to the Guardian with this new detail.  In the meantime…”

“Sire, excuse the interruption.”  They all looked towards the door, and Lothar stood at the sight of two battered looking armoured warriors.  The King was on his feet moments later and the Lord Commander strode across to the shorter, younger man.

“Callan!  What’s going on?”

“Father..”  Callan looked past him at the King.  “Sire, I’m here to report that one of our garrisons has been attacked.”

Fallorn found himself pushed aside during the rush that followed.  Lothar left immediately to investigate the attack, the King called his council together and started issuing orders regarding city security and there was no place for a lowly cardreader in all that confusion.  He knew it was somehow connected to his seizure but there was no proof of that, just a sense that it was so.  With nothing to do and no permission to leave the Keep, he located Celine and ordered a breakfast tray in his room. 

As he ate a slice of toast he glanced over at the pack of cards sitting on the bedside table. What was there about this innocent-seeming pack of paper cards that did this thing to him?  When he’d first come up with the idea of being a card reader, it had simply been a way to make some gold.  He didn’t really believe they had any magical powers and any readings he’d done had mostly been as a result of observation, guesswork and luck.  Sometimes he’d been wrong and he’d learned to gloss those errors over and use them to learn more about the subject.  But lately it had been much more than that.  First there’d been that tingle when he was after a particular card, and sometimes he received insight that he felt wasn’t just a good guess.  But the events at the Queen’s party, and the most recent – for want of a better word – seizure, had been new and frightening.

What had the Guardian, Medivh, said about him?  _That I might have some small amount of magical ability_.  That was an interesting idea, what if he’d been a mage?  It didn’t seem likely, surely someone would have missed him and searched for him if he’d been that important.  But still, it was an attractive idea.  As he finished his breakfast, Fallorn remembered seeing the Keep library.  Perhaps he could investigate there, see if there was any useful information on card reading or seizures or…magic. 

No-one bothered to stop him so he began the enjoyable pastime of shelf-browsing.  There were so many books, he had to pass up ones he would usually have grabbed.  No novels, no general history or professional journals, but even then he eventually had an armful to carry away.  There was a comfortable armchair thoughtfully provided for reading, and he settled into it with the pile of books on the table next to the chair.

Of card-reading there was little information.  Certainly card sets were mentioned but only in regard to fortune tellers and grifters.  None of the books took reading cards seriously.  Most considered it a novelty at best, a cheat at worst.  And there was zero mention of any peculiar effects while doing a reading, except for performances put on by said grifters.

He put those books aside and turned to the tomes.  He’d selected basic works, ones that spoke of the background of magic and mages, the history of organisations like the Kirin Tor and Dalaran and a couple of early learning study books.  Again, there was no mention of or connection with the things he’d experienced during the card readings.  Mages didn’t seem to suffer seizures or have visions of mysterious armed monsters.  It was frustrating.

What would it be like to have the power of magic at your command, he wondered.  To be able to wish things into existence, to travel great distances with a wave of a hand.  To impress people….  _Certain people might even respect you and consider you worthy of something other than a glare._

Fallorn shook his head at his own folly as he put the books away.  _Might as well wish for the White Lady._


	7. Summer's Lightning

Fallorn decided, within half an hour of passing out of the gates of Stormwind city, that he hated horseback riding.  Walking would have been preferable; at least he could stop now and then for a break.  On horseback he was jolted till his back screamed and his bum ached, his thighs were one big bruise and a headache began pounding behind his eyes.  But the Lord Commander insisted on a rapid pace.  So he bounced and jolted and cursed quietly, hanging onto the saddle and hoping the horse knew what to do.  He certainly didn’t.

While Fallorn didn’t believe the pace was meant to cause him pain, he doubted if the Lord Commander gave his discomfit a second thought.  Ever since the reports of the attacks started coming into Stormwind, the man had been moving from one rapidly-deteriorating situation to another.  And because the survivors’  accounts had described large previously-unknown beasts with strange armour and large weapons, he'd been dragged into it.  _Damned if I know why_ , he thought as he winced at another jolt from the awkwardly cantering mare, _it’s not like I have any further insight to give._   Not then, anyhow.  Not until he touched the cards again, and he really, really didn’t want to do that.

Medivh had finally responded to the King’s request to investigate this new disturbance in his position as Guardian, and he was riding at the head of the small armed party with Lothar.  They also had a prison wagon in case they managed to capture one of whatever the things were.  All that Fallorn could see of Medivh was his back; even his head was partly obscured by his feathered cape.  Whenever he glanced at the mage he felt something he could only describe at _twitchy_.  Nobody else created that same feeling and although he’d originally put it down to the man being a mage, in time he knew it wasn’t just that.  There was something not quite true about him.  Something seemed off, as if the picture of what he was and what he _really_ was were two different things.  _I should do a reading for him…if I wasn’t scared of what happen if I did…_

Lothar called a halt when they came on a wrecked wagon lying by the side of the road.  There weren’t any bodies lying around but the ground was littered with broken tools, and an odd green mist drifted off some of the surrounding trees.  Sliding from the saddle, Fallorn stretched out the kinks in his back and went forward to have a look.

He stepped around the side of the broken wagon and saw the Guardian bending over to study the obviously diseased tree.  As he did Fallorn heard a roar like that of enraged bull – he swung his head to see huge figures dropping out of trees and charging out of the undergrowth.  Even the trained warriors were stunned by the sight of them, for although they were large they moved surprisingly fast.  One, then another and a third of the Stormwind troopers fell, crushed or hacked aside.  Frozen in place by the shock, Fallorn heard Lothar yell his name – he tried to turn aside, saw a beast coming at him and then he was pushed backwards, his head striking the broken wagon wheel.  Darkness swallowed him in a flash of pain.

 

* * *

 

 

He was awake for a time before he was able to consider being alive.  Everything was fuzzy and when he tried to move his head hurt.  He thought he yelled or groaned or maybe cursed.  He might have just thought he did but the pain eased and he felt a hand soothing his head.  And when he opened his eyes the light hurt and he closed them again but finally thought… _I’m alive.  That’s good._   Even pain was good because you couldn’t feel pain if you were dead.

He slept or slid back into the dark.  Whatever it was, there was no sense of time, no dreams, just being awake again.  This time there was no pain, not straight away, and he cautiously opened his eyes.  He didn’t recognise wherever he was for a moment, then slowly turned his head and saw his blue cloak on the chair next to his bed.  Back in the Keep then.  The girl Celine was sitting there sewing something and she looked up as he moved, and smiled.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”  She put her sewing aside and stood, heading for the door.  He was going to ask her something but she was gone before he could form the words.  He drifted for a little time, a light doze because he still seemed very tired, and came back to waking when a hand touched his shoulder.

“Hey, cardreader.  You back among the living?”

 _Lothar._   He blinked slowly, focusing on the face above him.  It seemed careworn, shadows under the eyes, the look of someone who hadn’t slept much.  He cleared his throat.  “Yes.  So it seems.”  He started to sit up and Lothar bent forward to put one hand behind his back to help him.  “What happened after I hit my head?”

“Lots.  You weren’t the only one to go down, though you, at least, survived.”  He sat in the chair next to the bed though he didn’t seem able to settle.  “I lost five of my people and…the Guardian.”

“What!?”

“Yes.  He was looking at something, I don’t know what, and one of the beasts came out of the woods and clouted him with a huge axe.  He was dead before he hit the ground, head smashed in.”  Lothar stood again and went to the window, hands clutching the sill.  “Great leader I am, can’t even protect people like you and the Guardian.  I’m not sure what to do…”

“Contact the Kirin Tor.”  The words slid out before he had time to think about them, but they made sense when he did.  Lothar shrugged, still staring in an unfocused way beyond the window.

“Not sure what they can do, Fallorn.”

And then he realised something very important.  “I **am** a mage!"  Memory began seeping in like mist, a little at a time.  “And my name isn't Fallorn --it's Khadgar.  And I’m the Guardian Novitiate.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The logic of a particular event happening as it does in my story - a major character death - is that because of the way I set up the situation with Fallorn, he was not able to do something that Khadgar did in the film, leaving himself and the major character vulnerable. It certainly set up all kinds of interesting plot twists for me to play with.


	8. Six Shadows

Lothar could hardly stop him from the leaving the Keep anymore, and Khadgar took the opportunity to do something he’d meant to do for some time.  He made his way through Stormwind to the tavern and stopped at the door, looking about at the familiar taproom and seeing it from his new perspective.

It was scrappier than he’d remembered, a busy, untidy place full of sweaty workers and noisy patrons.  But it smelled and felt like home and he began to relax for the first time in days.  He caught sight of Beren behind the bar who saw him at the same moment with those sharp eyes of his.  The older man waved at him and he made his way through the crowd, stopping in front of the bar.

“Well, g’day stranger.  Didn’t think to see you again since you moved up to bigger and better things.”  He looked at Khadgar for a few moments then turned aside.  “Jeb, manage the bar, I’ll be back shortly.”  He stepped out, took Khadgar’s arm and led him back into his small office.  “Sit down, I’ll get you a cup of tea.  You look like something the cat dragged in.”

Khadgar settled back and watched the older man moving about his tidy kitchen.  “I wanted to come and thank you.”

“What for?”

“For everything you did for me.  You saved my life.”

Beren grinned as he set the cups on the table.  “I dunno about that.  You know me, I’m always after an angle.  Perhaps I saw something useful in you.”

“Maybe.  Or maybe you just don’t like admitting you did something nice?” 

Beren dropped the dried herbs in the pot and poured water from the kettle he kept warm on the little stove.  “That could be it too.  I suspect people will always want to do right by you, youngster.  You sort of radiate goodness.  Not like a priest or anything, but just your nature.”

“Nice of you to say so, but it isn’t always so.  Lothar seems to always want to push me around in one way or another.”

“Ah well, that’s different,” Beren said as he poured the strained tea into Khadgar’s cup.  “He probably just wants to shag you.”

Khadgar choked on the mouthful of tea he’d just taken in.  “I don’t think so!”

“Y’now, I heard the gossip’s news about the Guardian dyin’ and how you are his stand in.  But for all you are ‘pparently a mage and powerful and all that, you are a bit of a naïf.”  He poured a generous glob of whiskey into his tea.  “The way you talk about the man, how he is always around you, keeping you close by, arguing with you, and how you react to him – well, it’s just interestin’.  I always thought he was straight as, but maybe he finds helpless, brown-eyed mages to his taste.”

“I’m not helpless!”

Beren snorted and swallowed his laced tea.  “Son, you’re a kitten compared to a good portion of life on this world.  But all that aside, what are your plans, if I can pry, which I do.”

“Plans?  I’ve barely had time to come to terms with who I am.  But I suspect the Kirin Tor will come calling soon.  They will know the Guardian died the moment he did, since the power of the Tirisguard would have reverted to them.”

Beren’s eyebrows twitched down.  “Say that in common?”

“Sorry.  It means they will know the Guardian is dead already.  And since I’m the only one able to do it, they’re likely to want to talk to me.”  He swirled the dregs of his tea, staring down at the leaves.  “Even though I quit the job before coming here.”

“Hmm, did you indeed.  I imagine that complicates things a mite.”

Khadgar snorted a laugh.  “You could say that.”

Beren studied him, his astute eyes narrowed.  “You don’t want to be the Guardian?”

“It’s all I ever wanted to be since I was a child.  I quit because I had to.  I couldn’t explain it to them and they wouldn’t accept anything I said or that there was anything wrong.  Which turns out to be the Fel and these big creatures that have somehow ended up here.  The only way I could track down the wrongness was to renounce my novitiate vows and come here as a private individual.”

“Risky.”

“Yes.  But things are different now.  The Guardian is dead and they will come looking for me.  And no, they can’t just give it to someone else.  Not everyone is able to do it, and all the senior mages and archmages are too old, or just not suitable.  There’s me, or there’s no one, at least not for a long time.”  He stared at Beren, eyes unfocused.  “They don’t have a long time.  I don’t think they have any time at all.”

“Looks like you’ve talked yourself into it, lad.”

He shrugged, leaning back in the chair, suddenly tired.  “Seems so.  Funny thing is, I don’t think it was supposed to happen this way.  And I’m still confused about the cards.  The way they behaved, the way I was with them, it was something trying to communicate with me back when I had no memory of who I was.  It’s just an added complication.  But I don’t think I can ignore it, or refuse my duty to Azeroth.”  His eyes narrowed.  “At least not right now.  And as for Sir Anduin Lothar…”

Beren grinned and poured himself another cup of whisky-laced tea.  “You get to be around him all the time now.  Lucky you!”

Khadgar grabbed Beren’s cup and took a swig.  “Yes, lucky me.”

 


	9. The Dreamer

He sat on a stone bench in the garden next to the library and studied the card pack in his hands.  It was silent; no buzzing feelings, no images or weird seizures, just a set of paper rectangles with old images printed on them.  _Perhaps It’s time I did a reading for me…_

He spread them in the familiar fanned line, left to right, and ran his finger along them, searching for his Marker.  It took a minute or so before he finally had a slight tingle in one finger and he stopped, pulled the card out and turned it over.

But it wasn’t his Marker.  It was the Warrior.  The painted figure in its armour, sword held up and cloak winding around its shield, was obviously not him.  It was Lothar.  Khadgar huffed out an annoyed breath and reached for the rest of the deck and felt the tingle again.  As he turned the card he’d touched he knew what it would be – the Dreamer.  Him.

The Dreamer and the Warrior.  “How mismatched a pair of cards can you get,” he muttered, sitting them together.  “What are you trying to tell me, cards?  That I dream of the warrior? That the Dreamer and the Warrior should be together?  Could you be a little less ridiculous?”

“Talking to yourself now?  Surely that’s a sign of brain injury?”

_Think of the demon and it shall appear...and how much of that did he hear?_

Lothar was leaning against the library doorframe, arms folded over his chest in that way that Khadgar had come to think of as Casual Arrogant.  And there was a definite twinkle in those sky-coloured eyes.

“Well, I do have a headache, thanks for asking.”  He touched the bump on the back of his head and winced; it was still tender.  With that surprising warrior speed, Lothar was next to him, large hand touching his head.

“If it’s bad, I’ll get a healer.  You took a nasty blow.”

Thoughts of pain faded as he felt fingers in his hair, the big warm palm cradling his head.  He looked up, simply unable to move or speak and for a moment he saw something that looked like need in that scarred face.  Lothar’s lips opened as he took in a slow breath.  “Fallorn….I..do you…”

“Excuse me, Lord Commander.”

The hand moved away and Lothar turned towards the liveried servant standing next to the main Keep entry.  “Yes?”

“The King commands your presence sir, as well as the Guardian Novitiate.”

Whatever that moment was, or might have become, it was gone.  Lothar stepped back and nodded.  “Very well, inform his Majesty that we’re on our way.”

He glanced down at Khadgar, face once more contained and familiar.  “Let’s go, cardreader.  The Kirin Tor mage has arrived, time for you to be leaving.”

 

* * *

 

 

Dalaran was one thing he remembered well.  Hard not to know the tall spires shining in the sun as it floated serenely among the clouds.  The pure arcane power need to keep it there was an impressive statement of just how powerful the Kirin Tor were. 

The mage sent to collect him had directed the portal to the meeting room atop the Violet Citadel.  The six Archmages were already present and Antonidas was the first to welcome him.  “Well, young Khadgar, so you’ve come back to us after all.”

“I wasn’t completely sure you’d want me back, sir.”

“Oh you mustn’t call me sir,” the old mage said with a smile as he laid one wrinkled hand on Khadgar’s shoulder.  “You’re the Guardian – or you will be shortly.  That will automatically grant you a form of Archmage status.  Do you remember the other members of the Tirisguard?  Let me introduce them, in case not…”

Some faces he recalled and could fit names to, others were a bit hazy.  Khadgar knew that a couple of them didn’t believe he was the right person for the position but they made no sign of that.  He was one of them now it seemed and he suspected they thought that time and duty would iron out the rough edges of his personality.

_I hope not.  I never want to be as tight-arsed as some of them are, no matter how old and clever I get…_

Although the Guardian didn’t reside in Dalaran, rooms were still put aside in case he or she came for a visit.  He was shown to the tower by one of the Sunreaver guardians and the magical lock to the room was keyed to him so that only he could enter it.  Inside he found a very well appointed set of rooms including a small library and fully-equipped work area, a bedroom, bathing room and sitting area, presumably for guests.  He poked around the cupboards and desks, surprised to find a full set of robes and other clothing in the bedroom wardrobe.  Robes had never been his favourite form of attire; they could be hampering and he always felt just a little silly in them. 

One particular robe was laid across the bed, a very formal one with matching sash, gloves, trousers, socks and shoes.  And next to them was the dark Raven Cloak with its black feathered shoulders, and the famous Guardian’s staff, Atiesh.  He touched it, hesitant, but it accepted him, recognising his right to hold it.

Antonides had informed him that the Tirisguard investiture would take place immediately to ensure the smooth transition.  He couldn’t help being a bit nervous, not just at the idea of the power about to come to him but at the responsibility he would take on.  Fate and it’s attendant burdens were rushing him towards a future he’d become uncertain of.  Part of him still wanted it.  What mage wouldn’t want that ultimate power?  But another part of him had begun to question whether such power should go to just one person.  _What was that old saying about power and corruption…._

He’d just finished dressing himself for the ceremony when there was a knock at the door.  It was the same Sunreaver, who bowed at his appearance.  “Guardian Novitiate Khadgar, I am to take you to the Font.  Please follow me.”

Khadgar sucked in a deep breath, straightened and bent to collect Atiesh.  “Very well.  Lead on.”


	10. One in the Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the first part of this tale. I will continue it on in "The House of the Lion", starting Real Soon Now. (:

For something so important, the investiture took only a few minutes’ time.  Khadgar was led to a level in the Violet Citadel he’d never visited, a separate tower that was one of the highest in the city.  There was no physical access; the only way in was by mage portal.  It was a place meant only to be visited by mages and thus was screened, ensorcelled and layered with guardian spells.  A large circular room with golden wooden beams, it had no windows but required no sunlight to brighten it.  The Font of the Guardian glowed with arcane power and ley tendrils wound across the floor and up the walls, spilling their cool light everywhere.

Khadgar was placed on the raised platform next to the Font while the Tirisguard stood in a circle around the dais.

Antonidas stepped up onto the dais on the other side of the font.  “Guardian Novitiate Khadgar: are you prepared and willing to take on the power and responsibilities of the Guardian at this time?”

He cleared his throat of the sudden nervous weight.  “I am prepared and willing.”

“Fellow Archmages of the Tirisguard: are you prepared and willing to accept Khadgar as the Guardian and to imbue him with the necessary power to fulfil his role?”

The all agreed in a single word and bowed their heads, almost as if in prayer.

“Centre and settle yourself, Khadgar, and receive the power of the Tirisguard.”

Khadgar took in a shaky breath and bowed his head, staring at the floor, balancing his power and holding himself steady.  As the Tirisguard began to murmur a long and complex spell, their power flowed out and into the Font, making the already bright pool scintillate.   Antonidas guided the flow from the font into Khadgar, holding him steady as he wavered under the impact.

There was no pain.  There was no real physical sensation at all.  It was nonetheless stupendous, as his sense of magical power rose to an entirely new level.   He felt himself lifting off the floor, suspended in a twirling blue-white stream of energy.  The words of the enchantment rose to match his flight and just when he thought he could take no more, it ended.

He felt his feet touch the wooden floorboards and almost stumbled.  As his focus cleared he stared wide-eyed across at Antonidas, who moved around to stand in front of him.

“One last thing remains,” the old man said, softly.  “You have the power, now you need only the abilities.”  He reached out and laid a hand on Khadgar’s head.  There was a yellow-white flash of light surrounding him and then he knew it all.

Everything.  Every spell.  Every ability.  Frost.  Fire.  Arcane.  He knew them all.  They were there in his mind like pages of a great book and he need only think of a spell and he knew the words, the gestures.  He could teleport, generate multiple spells in all three schools of magic at once, hurl power like a giant hurled rocks.  He felt as if he could shift the world on its axis.  It wasn’t so, of course, but his perceptions had altered and he had not yet reached an understanding of his limitations.

He was hardly aware of being guided back to his rooms and left on his bed to rest.  He didn’t sleep.  There was so much to discover, to understand.  And the first thing was to understand how any one person could have that much power and not be changed by it.

When he came back to himself it was night.  The room was dark and Khadgar flicked a minor illumination spell, setting all the lanterns and candles alight.  For a time he stared up at the shadowed ceiling, feeling the energy swirl around him.  It was fascinating; he supposed it would take time to grow accustomed to it, and to what he could do.  _Too late to go back to reading cards on the streets of Stormwind._ Which was rather sad, when he considered it.  Life had certainly been simpler then.

He rose eventually and changed out of the robe and back into his normal clothes.  He could have done it with a spell but he knew he had to set himself some rules.  If he took the magic for granted he would lose contact with the real world.  He could see a future self who looked down on people as lesser beings unable to change reality with a flick of the finger.  That would be bad.  Magic was not who he was.  It was what he was able to do, no more.

 _Although, I can do an awful lot_.  He grinned and teleported himself downstairs.  Time to get on with the job of protecting the world.

 


End file.
